


Cat Sitting

by niniblack



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Babysitter Richard, Childhood, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: “Keep an eye on your brother,” his mother had said, before leaving.“Not on Eloise?” Richard had asked.Sybilla had given him a level look. “She’s less likely to need watching.”Which was true enough. Of his younger siblings, five-year-old Francis was the one who was forever getting into places and things he shouldn’t. Eloise toddled along after him into the same trouble, but was hardly old enough to instigate any of it herself.(Now with a part 2!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished this series today. Thanks to Ally for the beta.

“Keep an eye on your brother,” his mother had said, before leaving.

“Not on Eloise?” Richard had asked.

Sybilla had given him a level look. “She’s less likely to need watching.”

Which was true enough. Of his younger siblings, five-year-old Francis was the one who was forever getting into places and things he shouldn’t. Eloise toddled along after him into the same trouble, but was hardly old enough to instigate any of it herself.

But Richard had promised, and true to his word had spent that first afternoon that his mother was away dutifully keeping an eye on the children playing in the grass while he spent his own time practicing with his bow. He wasn’t sure what they were playing exactly, but it seemed to be something involving Eloise’s doll and an elaborate backstory that Francis was acting out while Eloise made appreciative noises and clapped. And he’d learned enough, in the weeks since he’d been home from school, to keep them out of the house.

At one point he realized they were both standing just behind him, watching his practice silently. He lowered the bow, turning to look at them. Eloise was clinging to Francis’ hand, but looked otherwise uninterested. “What are you doing?”

“I want to try,” Francis said.

“You’re too little,” Richard told him.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re barely as tall as the bow. You couldn’t hold it.”

The pout on Francis’ face probably worked on Sybilla, Richard thought, but he was unmoved. Francis dropped Eloise’s hand and reached for the bow. “I want to try,” he said again.

Richard raised it over his head. “I said no.”

Eloise said, “Look kitty,” and grabbed at Francis’ shirt, pointing to a cat that had emerged from somewhere and was currently stalking across the yard. This proved sufficiently distracting, and was apparently more interesting than bothering Richard about the bow, because Francis took her hand again and the two set off after the cat. The creature took off running when it noticed the children closing in on it, and they chased after it until they’d all disappeared around the other side of the castle.

Better the cat than him, Richard thought.

\---

The next morning he was woken by Eloise knocking at his door.

“What is it?” he asked. Francis was lurking a bit further down the hall, doing a poor job of hiding behind a corner, and Richard had no doubt about who had sent her on whatever this mission was.

“We need food for the cat,” she said.

“We?” he asked.

She nodded, gesturing down the hall to where Francis was hiding.

“You might as well come out, Francis,” Richard said.

He did, glaring at Eloise. “You weren’t supposed to tell him I was there.”

“Don’t scold her,” Richard said. “I’d already seen you.”

“But I was hiding!”

Richard couldn’t hold back his laugh at the indignant look on his brother’s face. “Cover your hair next time. It’s too bright to hide.”

Francis reached up to cover his head with his hands, frowning.

“Cat food,” Eloise reminded them.

“Alright, fine. After breakfast,” Richard promised.

Breakfast proved to be a trial, with both children fidgeting restlessly and murmuring to each other until their father’s harsh voice cut in, telling them to shut up and give him some peace. Francis quickly asked to be excused, and Gavin waved a hand at him dismissively. Which left Richard to make small talk about his plans for the day -- archery, riding, one of the horses was about to foal -- until he could make his own escape from the table.

He found Francis and Eloise in the sitting room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book open in front of them. Francis was doing a decent job of reading it, and sounding out the words he clearly didn’t know yet. They both startled badly at the sound of Richard at the doorway.

“Oh, it’s you,” Francis said.

“Yes,” Richard said.

“Kitty now?” Eloise asked, standing up.

“Can we give it milk?” Francis asked.

“Meat might work better,” Richard said. “Or fish.”

Francis put the book back on the shelf carefully. “Do we have any fish?”

“Let’s find out.” As Richard turned to lead the way to the kitchen they both hurried over to him and grabbed his hands, which stopped him in surprise for a moment. They tended to cling to each other, or to Sybilla, and the sudden affection was unexpected. He had to bend a bit to allow Eloise to walk on her own, and it left him feeling rather uncomfortably like a nursery maid.

They did find fish, and a small dish, and Richard left the two children near the stables to try and lure the cat back out with it while he returned to his archery. After a little while, some of the boys from the village rode past and invited him to come along hunting with them. When he went to get his horse, Francis and Eloise were still waiting on the cat. He left them to it, and spent the rest of the day riding and shooting.

He was late getting back, and had missed dinner. “Where were you?” his father demanded, as Richard tried walking past the sitting room where he was lounging, a glass of drink in hand.

“Hunting,” Richard said, coming to stand just inside the doorway.

“Anything to show for it?”

“A pheasant.”

Gavin frowned. “Just one?”

“I let the village boys take everything else,” Richard said.

Gavin didn’t seem pleased with that answer either, but Richard had rather thought that they needed the game more than the castle did. He shifted his weight, wondering if it would be too rude to simply duck back out of the room.

Then his gaze caught on the book Francis had been reading earlier, lying on the floor. It looked like it had been kicked into the corner.

“Where are the children?” Richard asked. Usually if they were in the sitting room in the evening Sybilla was with them.

“Where they always are,” Gavin grumbled. “Underfoot.”

“I’m going to go look for them,” Richard said. Gavin dismissed him, and Richard left as quickly as he could.

They were nowhere to be found on the first floor. He checked Eloise’s nursery next but it was also empty, the bed still neatly made. Francis’ room was up the stairs, and when Richard made his way up there he could see a line of light shining under the door.

Francis was sprawled on his stomach on the bed, facing away from the door. Eloise was sitting against the foot of the bed, one of Francis’ books open on her lap. Richard was fairly sure she didn’t know how to read it yet, but she seemed to be tracing her finger along the words and babbling something about cats.

“Hello,” Richard said, knocking his fist lightly against the door.

Eloise looked up at him, her expression solemn.

“Go away,” Francis said, voice muffled by the pillow.

Richard stepped further into the room. “Did you get dinner?” he asked.

Eloise nodded. Francis turned himself so that his back was firmly to Richard.

“What happened with Father?”

“Nothing,” Francis said.

“He got mad,” Eloise said.

Francis kicked a foot in her direction, but didn’t actually come close to hitting her. “I said nothing happened.”

“Are you going to face me and tell me?” Richard asked.

Francis exploded into movement, twisting himself around to sit up on the bed and cross his arms, glaring at Richard. As well as he could anyway, with one eye already mostly swollen shut.

“That’s what I thought,” Richard said, sighing. Sybilla was going to kill him. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do _anything_ ,” Francis insisted. “And it’s not like you care, so you can go away.”

“You need to learn to avoid him better,” Richard said, feeling like this was the best brotherly advice he could impart in this situation.

Francis rolled his eyes, then flopped back over onto his stomach, clutching the pillow.

Eloise was looking between them, her expression still discomfitingly serious. She held the book out to him.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“She’s not,” Francis said. “She can’t read yet.”

“Well I can,” Richard said. “You and Mother aren’t the only smart ones. Budge up.” He nudged Francis over with his hip until there was enough room that he could sit and lean back against the headboard, Eloise’s book open on his lap. “What is this about?”

“Cats,” Eloise said.

“No, it’s not,” Francis said, face still buried in his pillow. “I told you she can’t read it.”

“Do you have one about cats?”

There was silence for a moment, then Francis rolled off the bed and went over to his bookshelf, running a finger over the spines for a moment before pulling one down and bringing it back. “Here,” he said. “One of these poems has a cat.”

It took awhile to find the poem about the cat, but eventually they got there, and by the time Richard was reading it Francis had cheered up enough to lean against the headboard next to him while Eloise lay sprawled at their feet.

 _Pangur, white Pangur, How happy we are  
_ _Alone together, scholar and cat_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me at @niniblack on twitter or tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reminded of times in canon when Richard plays babysitter, so this gained a part two. Thanks again to Ally for the beta. A special shoutout to Raven (and honorable mention to the Jstor twitter team) for helping me hunt down a copy of Hieronymus Fragastor's Syphilis, translated into prose from the original latin. Y'all the real MVPs, helping a girl fill her 16th century poetry needs just so Richard can crack a joke at Lymond's expense.

_Considering Lymond, flat now on the bed in wordless communion with the ceiling, Richard spoke. “My dear, you are only a boy. You have all your life still before you.”_

_On the tortoise-shell bed, his brother did not move. But there was no irony for once in his voice when he answered. “Oh yes, I know. The popular question is, for what?” (Queen's Play, Part III, Ch. I)_

Francis was sick again after that, and rather than carry him to the other room and back again Richard simply brought him a bowl. It was decorated with an ornately wrought mosaic of tiles. Francis was too preoccupied to complain about desecrating expensive heirlooms, although Richard doubted he’d have cared even if he’d been in good health.

“I’m surprised there’s anything left in your stomach,” Richard commented.

Francis flopped back onto the bed, one arm covering his eyes. “An unfortunate amount of wine,” he said.

There was a basin of water and towels across the room. Richard wet one and brought it back over, taking hold of Francis’ wrist to pull his arm away. He had a glimpse of wary, bloodshot eyes before he dropped the damp cloth over them.

Beyond that, there really wasn’t much nursing to be done. Most of the poison must be out of his system by now, leaving just the after effects which only time and rest would help abate. Except Francis, always one to take the most difficult route, was already trying to push himself back up off the bed.

Richard only needed one hand to push him back down. “What are you doing?”

“I need to pack.”

“It can wait.”

“No, I need—“

Richard nudged Francis over on the bed so that there was room for him to sit as well, and did a quick survey of the room. “Don’t you have any books in here?”

Francis had wound up curled on his side, eyes closed again. “Why?” he mumbled.

“Because that’s always been the only way to get you to stay put.”

One blue eye opened, fixing a level gaze on Richard. No offer of a book was forthcoming.

“Alright then,” Richard said, settling himself back against the pillows. The mattress was too soft, and set Francis rolling towards him, his overheated forehead resting against Richard’s thigh. “You’ll have to make do with what I can recall from memory, then.

_Two hundred years ago, at the precise time that Mars_  
_united his rays with the baleful fires of Saturn,_  
_there was suddenly observed rising on the banks of the Ganges,_  
_among the people who viewed the rise of Aurora,_  
_a fever of a nature absolutely new._  
_This fever -- horrible thing! -- tore waves of blood  
from the palpitating bosom of its victims.”_

There was a long silence, and then Francis’ voice, still hoarse said, “I don’t know where to begin: with your horrible Italian translation or that you think lecturing me about the French disease is comforting.”

“It’s not a lecture, it’s a poem. You being an expert, I thought you’d recognize it.”

Francis shifted a bit, wincing, and Richard ran a hand over the dyed dark hair. “You used to read me poems about cats,” he complained.

“I haven’t read you that since you were seven and and decided it was stupid.”

“I didn’t say it was stupid. Only that it didn’t mean anything.”

Richard was fairly certain that, as a child, Francis hadn’t made a distinction between the two, but he leaned his head back, eyes roaming over the ceiling. “I’m not sure I remember it.”

“ _Pangur… Pangur, how happy we are_ ,” Francis mumbled. “ _Alone together…_ ”

“ _Scholar and cat_ ,” Richard continued.

_“Each has his own work to do daily;_  
_For you it is hunting, for me study._  
_Your shining eye watches the wall;_  
_My feeble eye is fixed on a book._  
_You rejoice, when your claws entrap a mouse;_  
_I rejoice when my mind fathoms a problem._  
_Pleased with his own art, neither hinders the other;  
Thus we live ever without tedium and envy.”_

He finished the whole thing, voice steady and hand brushing over Francis’ lank curls. When he glanced back it down, it was to find Francis relaxed into sleep finally, body limp and mouth slack with exhaustion. “Do try not to die before Mardi Gras, please,” Richard said.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at @niniblack on [twitter](https://twitter.com/niniblack_) or [tumblr](https://niniblack.tumblr.com/).


End file.
